


Overwhelmed

by gretawhy



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:55:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gretawhy/pseuds/gretawhy





	

Sometimes, you wish you weren’t you.

You wish that you had a normal childhood, grew up in a normal town, went to a normal school with normal kids and did all those things that a normal child would do.

Because no matter how many people wish they had your life, it was so not normal to have danced with Michael Jackson before the age of ten.

And now that comes back to haunt you. Because you’re new. Your fame hasn’t really hit the main stream reporters yet, and all they can find to ask you about is Michael. What’s he like? What’s the ranch like? Did you see his pet llama? Did he attempt to molest you?

You field these questions about your childhood with a heavy heart. Because yes, you wanted it, yes, you idolized the legend at such a young age, but you never thought that over ten years later you would still be asking questions about something that lasted a day.

You wonder when it got so out of hand. It seemed like you went from behind the scenes to in front of the camera over night.

And you know this is what you wanted. You know that the second you walked up to Britney Spears with your balls on the plate and asked her to pick you to direct her tour that you wanted this life.

But you never expected it to be so lonely.

But back then with Britney, it was different than it is now. You were behind the scenes. You were telling her how to move, working with her to have ideas for the encore, standing in the VIP section where no one even gave you a second glance to watch your ideas come to life.

You’re pretty sure the real madness started with NSYNC. And you know you owe those five guys so much, because they pretty much put you on the map. You’re the first person people ask for when they need a choreographer, you’re the instructor who has a waiting list for his class, you’re the person in demand now.

All because of five guys and a tour.

And in the beginning, like with Britney, it was behind the scenes. You knew they worked harder than anyone you ever encountered. You knew they would stay in the dance studio for twenty hours a day if that’s what it took. And you respected that. And you admired that, and that’s what really drew you to befriend the guys.

But once they became your friends, nothing was ever normal again.

They insisted you have some camera time on Making The Tour, more time than any of the other choreographers. And that’s what started it. But still, it was different. People hated you. They saw you yelling at the guys when they screwed up and they hated that you almost made Justin cry. That you yelled at Joey on camera. That you did your job and told them they screwed up.

But the guys never minded. And you became even closer and that’s when the world blew up in your face.

You were the only one who could feasibly replace Joey in the video when he got hurt. The cameras didn’t see you behind the scenes, talking with the guys, trying to come up with another solution, because really, you didn’t want to do it.

But because of that, you can’t go out now without a bodyguard. You were right behind them when they won awards for your song. You were pulled up on stage when they won the award for the video. You were truly happy for them, but now your life has changed.

You no longer ask to direct a tour, you’re being asked. Your life is a whirlwind since Britney asked you to direct her next tour. Your face is on MTV, your fans have web sites for you now, you’re even on the cover of magazines.

Life is great.

Isn’t it?

But deep down, you know there’s more out there. You say that yeah, you were in France while other kids were at their prom, so it was all good. But what would it have been like to dress up and go to the prom? Would you have had a date? Who would have been king and queen of the dance? Would you have been one of the popular kids or shunned because of your dancing ability?

Would people like you because of you, and not because you’re famous?

What would it have been like if you never met Michael Jackson? Or Britney Spears? Or NSYNC? Would you be happier now? Would you have gone to college and joined a frat? Would you be less tired?

And you know you’re grateful for everything that has happened to you. You know deep down that you wouldn’t change your life for anything, even when it gets hectic.

But sometimes, you just wish you were a normal kid who could crawl next to your mother and put your head on her lap and just cry. You know, even though you’re not normal, your mother is, and she would know that all she had to do was hold you and stroke your back and not say a word. And that would be enough. Just knowing that your mother was there for you.

But your mother is a world away right now. And she’s not down the hall, and she’s not in the next room, and she’s not going to be able to hold you when you need it the most. If you call her with your sudden loneliness, with your sudden sadness, your sudden feeling of being overwhelmed, (because God, you’re just nineteen!), you’re just going to worry her, and no one would want to worry their mother.

Yet you find yourself opening the hotel room door. And watching your feet as you walk down the hall, randomly noticing you forgot to put on shoes and there’s a hole in the toe of your sock. And you stop in front of a door and don’t allow yourself to think as you raise your hand and knock once. Twice.

Because there is someone else just as abnormal as you. There is someone who knows exactly what you’re going through. Because he was on TV while you were dancing with Michael. He may have also been in France while kids his age were at the prom. He knows exactly how it feels to not have a normal childhood.

You don’t think that he may be asleep. You don’t think that you may look like an idiot when he answers the door. You don’t think that you’ll be able to tell him what you’re thinking. And you think feelings that are better left hidden may come out and he’ll turn you away and it won’t matter how much you have in common with him because he’ll have sent you back to your room.

But before you can turn away and go on your own, the door swings open and he’s standing in front of you. And you look at him and want to make up some excuse for being outside his door at midnight, something that will sound better than loneliness, a great idea for a song, maybe, but suddenly you can’t speak.

The television is the only light in the room and you see the flickering of colors on the wall behind him. You know you got him out of bed because you can vaguely see the sheets are turned down. You look at his face to apologize, and when your eyes meet his, your words catch in your throat and you suddenly can’t speak.

But you know he knows. He can see everything in your eyes. He can see the loneliness, the sense of being overwhelmed, the hurt and the pain. And when his face changes and his body shifts you wonder what else he sees. And you think it may be the longing.

But he doesn’t say anything. He simply holds out his hand to you and you look at it briefly before slipping your hand into his and allow yourself to be pulled into his room. He leads you to his bed and he motions for you to get in, and he follows, leaning against the headboard and pulling the covers up over both of you.

You lie on your side, still. He reaches out and pulls you close, putting your head on his chest and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. And you feel your breath catch and you feel the stinging behind your eyes, and you just know you’re about to cry.

It’s as if he knows too, because he strokes your back and whispers something you can’t really make out, and suddenly you’re crying, sobbing into his white wifebeater, your fists clutched on the material. But his hand on your back is your anchor, no matter how far you drift away in your pity, he’s always right there, ready to pull you back.

You feel him shift on the bed and he slumps so his chin rests on top of your head. And as your sobs lessen and you relax in his arms under his touch, you feel the slightest pressure on your forehead.

It’s only when you feel the warm breath on your skin, the slight leftover moisture from his lips, do you realize he kissed you.

You tilt your head up and want to say you’re sorry. That you didn’t mean to come in here and blubber like a baby, but you’re just so lonely, and you want someone who understood what you’re feeling.

But he doesn’t give you a chance. He shakes his head and puts his lips on yours. His kiss is gentle, a slight pressure on your chapped lips.

“I understand,” he says softly against your lips.

And you know that he does.


End file.
